Since It Fell unto My Lot
by Katie Duggan's Niece
Summary: Three-part prequel to "The Heart of a Lion." It's Christmas Eve, and the guv's still sheriff of Fenchurch East, still fighting the rot, even if he has lost his best deputies. "All alone, Gene," Keats once told him, and it just might turn out to be true. Or will it? Spoilers for series 2 of Life on Mars and series 3 of Ashes to Ashes. In progress.
1. All the Comrades

For those of you who knew I was writing a Christmas-themed story, this is likely _not_ what you expected. So I beg your patience and would invoke Ray Carling's famous observation that "being where the guv is, is the right place to be."

I've quoted liberally from both **Life on Mars** and **Ashes to Ashes**. Thanks, as always, to grainweevil for the handy **A2A** transcripts.**  
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Dedicated to my two favorite publicans and to the best pub singers I know, end of.**  
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**Since It Fell unto My Lot  
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* * *

><p><em>"Winter is the darkest season when one is alone." – Thomas Holbrook in <strong>Cranford<strong> (script by Heidi Thomas)  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: All the Comrades<strong>**  
><strong>

"Same again?"

I nodded, and the landlord set about pulling another pint. This was a new place, open only a few months, and not one of those poncey wine bars; it was a proper pub with good bitter - though not a patch on Manchester's, but then nothing is - and decent grub instead of quiches and rabbit food. There was a dart board too, and a telly for the football, and a jukebox, and a bar so long the place never felt crowded, even if all of CID came in for a drink.

The landlord was a young bloke, too bloody serious for the business he was in, but he could handle the punters and keep the place shipshape to the bargain. Tonight there was greenery hung round the bar and behind some of the picture frames, though it hadn't gone as far as fairy lights and other rubbish.

Fine by me. Didn't want reminding of all that peace and good will bollocks.

**~.O.~**

Monday morning a few skinheads had set upon a newsagent, kicking him till someone had thought to call the coppers and get the bloke, or what was left of him, to hospital. _A hate crime_, Holbrooke had called it, just as Sam might've done if he'd been around to help us sort those bastards out.

Only he wasn't, never would be.

Going to be an uphill battle to find the scum who'd done it, too, though God knows Holbrooke tried. Determined as Bolly, sometimes, and as unintelligible. Started going on about _liaisons _and_ community support officers_, till I decided to show him a bit of proper policing. Wasn't so full of himself after a few doors shut in our faces. Mind you, I almost felt sorry for him, considering the week, and Holbrooke being on his tod and all.

Wasn't going to be much of a holiday for that newsagent, either. I reckon he wasn't the sort of bloke who celebrated Christmas, but he didn't deserve to be in hospital on the day itself. Or any day.

But at least he _was_ in hospital, and not somewhere else. There's many aren't so lucky.

**~.O.~**

The landlord came back with my pint and set it on the counter. Must've heard my stomach rumble, because just as I was lighting meself a fag he asked, "Something from the kitchen?"

Any other night I might've taken the bait, but not just then.

I shook my head. "Reckon the pint'll do me."

He nodded, then went off to see to a fresh wave of punters. Over by the jukebox a couple of yuppie wankers and their lobotomized girlfriends were singing along while that bloody song about the drunk banged up on Christmas Eve played _again. _Reminded me I needed to have a word about getting in a few decent records.

Not that the music was always bad - and there wasn't that soppy tune about the tart in the red dress; I'd looked to make sure - but the place could've done with a bit more Herb Alpert, bit less Rogues, or whatever they're called. All that noise and it got hard to hear meself think.

Not that I was there to think. Not most nights.

****~.O.~****

The call came in Tuesday evening, after almost everyone in CID had already disappeared for beer o'clock and I'd just put on my coat. Nothing for it but to fire up the Merc, with Terry riding along, and make for one of the council flats.

They let us into a place with the Christmas tree already up - tinsel, fairy lights, the lot - and a woman on the floor with her daughter in her arms.

Seemed the little girl had been whingeing about something or other, and her stepdad picked her up and knocked her against the wall, again and again. Bastard legged it right afterwards, hadn't been seen or heard from since. Left nothing behind but that bloody Christmas tree, and the wife sitting on the floor crying and holding on to her little girl. Took Terry fully half an hour of talking before she'd even let the medical examiner near - he's good with a crying bird, is Terry - but the worst bit was when they had to take the kid away.

Some days it seems all we do is tell mums they won't see their little 'uns again. Can't save 'em. Can't save any of 'em.

**~.O.~**

I put down my glass, lighted another fag. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted this bloke coming up to the bar, and I turned round to look - old habit; reckon it was the sight of his leather jacket, and that haircut - but at least I'd stopped meself before I'd said it this time.

_ Skip._

Of course it wasn't Viv. Wasn't our new desk sergeant, Ken Tarbell, either, but then I never had seen Tarbell in the pub. Kept to himself, mostly - not like Viv at all, or that lot in CID, who joined me for a pint most nights. Even the little redheaded plonk, Ferguson, had started coming along - though she was teetotal, and that wasn't even the worst of her problems - but Tarbell could never be bothered.

Didn't blame him, though. Things had changed round Fenchurch East, and kept changing; I could see it every day.

Saw other things, too. Especially whenever I closed my eyes.

**~.O.~**

_"Way of the world, Alex. She'll be fine."_

_I'd hoped that would sort her out, and for a moment it looked like it had. Then Bolly got to _thinking_. I could almost see the wheels turning in her pretty little head.  
><em>

_"Listen. Listen - listen to me. I could stay here, with you. You can't do this - you can't do this on your own. You need me, Gene. I can't - I can't go in there!"  
><em>

_That posh voice of hers started breaking, and Bolls wasn't done with the tears, either. Almost enough to make me -_

__****~.O.~****__

"You got a light there, mate?"

"What?" I turned round and saw that bloke in the leather jacket.

"A light," he said, holding up a ciggy.

"Course I do." Got him sorted, then put the lighter back in my pocket while the man leaned back and took a long pull.

"Thanks. Say, you all right?" he said, giving me a look.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason." He shrugged. "Only you look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Might have done."

"What?"

"Nothing, " I told him, and picked up my glass. "Nothing."

_****~.O.~****_

_Ghosts._

I reckon I've seen my share of those.

That morning we got another call. A shop this time. Owner went to open up, found the place a tip. Thought kids had got in_._

Then she stumbled on the bodies.

Found the first lad lying on the floor. He'd been knocked about but at least he was still alive and she could send him off to hospital straightaway, before we'd even got there.

Blaggers had saved the worst of it for her assistant, a bloke called Squires, who was meant to lock up the night before. Left him outside in the alleyway, once they'd done with him, and it wasn't clear if it was the beating or the cold killed him.

By the time we arrived his boss was in a right old state, and WPC Ferguson almost as bad, soon as she saw that poor bastard lying out in the cold.

I'd had to bring Red along when for once I could have done with Holbrooke's over-educated brain, and a bloke wouldn't have let me catch him blubbing over a victim, either. Can't rightly say what got into Ferguson, but I knew how to sort her out. Set her to work making the shopkeeper a good strong cuppa, to sort _her_ out, and carrying on taking the statement while I had a quick word with the medical examiner.

He showed me the cuts and bruises on the victim's hands. Squires must've fought back, but it hadn't done any good. They'd got in, fairly turned the place upside down, and left him looking like he had only half a face. Wouldn't know more till later.

Right. I always did fancy spending Christmas Eve down the morgue.

As they took Squires away I went back into the shop see how Ferguson was getting on and came just in time to catch a bit of what that bird was telling her.

"...was going to do a management course. He had plans, _such_ plans. His mentor, he used to call me - "

Didn't hear anything more, not just then. Stepped back out in the cold again, took out the hip flask, sorted meself out.

Then I went back inside the shop to have another look round, another word with the boss. Told her we were going to find the bastards. Said we weren't going to leave her on her own.

**~.O.~**

The wankers and their birds were gone, and someone put on another record, "Don't Give Up," and the pub quieted down a bit. Halle-bloody-lujah.

A few minutes on this group of blokes walked in. Not yuppies this time, and I reckoned they were regulars too, because the landlord had their pints in front of them soon as they got round the table, with everyone talking and laughing and taking the piss. Any road, better than that other lot.

Till they started in with the singing.

_"Masters in this hall,_  
><em>Hear ye news today..."<em>

Right. Best to drink up pronto. I turned back to my pint just in time to see something hit the bar next to it.

"What's this?" I said to the landlord.

He nodded at the plate he'd put down. "Bit of experimentation. See what you think."

"Oi, Paddy! Didn't order this!" I called after him, but he'd already gone off to pull a few more pints.

I had another look at what he'd left me. Plate of meat and veg. Looked a bit like hotpot, in fact. Didn't smell bad, either.

_Oh, sod it_. I'd been living on bacon butties and biscuits for days, and hadn't had anything at all since I'd got back from the morgue.

I tucked in and found it tasted even better than it smelled. Didn't take long to scoff the lot.

**~.O.~**

Once I'd got some food down me the singing didn't seem as annoying as it had done. And it wasn't as though the lads and I hadn't done enough of that back in Manchester. Or even in CID, long as there was someone about who could carry a tune.

While I was having another fag I got a good look at that lot round the table. There was a white-haired fella with a 'stache to match, and beside him an Irishman with a long beard - could've made Father Christmas between the two of them - and next to him another geezer with glasses, and this dark-haired bloke with a pointy nose just like Holbrooke's.

Made a lot of noise, between their pints and a few more songs. Still, not a bad change from the jukebox, and it was clear the other punters weren't bothered, either. In fact they'd cheered and pounded on the tables after that first tune.

And just before the landlord called time, the Irishman started in with the last one.

_"Of all the money that e'er I spent,  
>I spent it in good company.<br>And all the harm that e'er I've done,  
>Alas, it was to none but<em> _me._

_"And all I've done for want of wit_  
><em>To mem'ry now I can't recall.<em>  
><em>So fill to me the parting glass.<em>  
><em>Good night, and joy be with you all."<em>

He had a bloody good voice, too. Whole place had gone quiet, listening.

_"Of all the comrades that e'er I had,_  
><em>They're sorry for my going away.<em>  
><em>And all the sweethearts that e'er I had,<em>  
><em>They'd wish me one more day to stay."<em>

All his mates joined in on the chorus.

_"But since it fell unto my lot_  
><em>That I should rise and you should not,<em>  
><em>I'll gently rise and softly call<em>  
><em>Good night and joy be with you all."<em>

As that Irishman took the last verse, you couldn't hear so much as a glass clink. Or a match strike.

_"If I had money enough to spend_  
><em>And leisure time to sit a while,<em>  
><em>There is a fair maid in this town<em>  
><em>That sorely has my heart beguiled.<em>  
><em>Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,<em>  
><em>I own, she has my heart in thrall.<em>  
><em>Then fill to me the parting glass,<em>  
><em>Good night and joy be with you all."<em>

Whole place seemed to come to life as the rest of those blokes and nearly everyone in the pub joined in.

_"But since it fell unto my lot_  
><em>That I should rise and you should not,<em>  
><em>I'll gently rise and softly call<em>  
><em>Good night and joy be with you all."<em>

And everyone was still clapping and cheering and pounding on the tables as the landlord called time.

**~.O.~**

Place cleared out in a jiffy, but I stayed to finish a last fag before going to settle up with the landlord. Didn't know if I had money enough in my pockets for the grub.

And I didn't expect to hear what he had to say to me.

"No charge for the coddle."

"Come again?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, bit of experimentation. Wanted to know what one of me regulars thought.

"So how was it?"

"Reckon you'd do all right in Manchester." I hoped he knew that was me apologizing.

"Grand. And it's Declan."

"What?"

"Declan," he said, looking me in the eye. "Not Paddy."

"Gene. Gene Hunt." I put out a hand. "Erm, I'm a copper."

He grinned then. "Knew that," he said, shaking my hand. "Seen you here with your men, haven't I. And the woman officer. The redhead."

"Yeah. Buggered off before I got here, the lot of 'em."

"They would, wouldn't they, tonight," he said. "Most people would."

"Reckon you did all right, though."

He shrugged again. "Not bad for a Christmas Eve. Hope the fellas didn't put you off the place," he added.

"The fellas?"

"With their singing," he said, nodding towards the table where those blokes had been sitting. "Like it myself – reminds me of me uncles – still, it's not to everyone's taste."

"Hm. Better than that tune about the bloke in the drunk tank."

He grinned again. "I'll be getting some new records in come the new year."

As I was going he didn't wish me happy Christmas. It was as much for that as anything else that I reckoned I'd keep coming back. That and the bitter.

**~.O.~**

Not many people about on the streets, it being Christmas Eve and bloody cold to the bargain, but as I stood there turning up the collar on my coat I felt someone bump into me, and looked down and saw a little girl. Must've come racing round the corner just as I'd walked out the door of the pub.

"Whoa, little lady," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Then I heard someone calling out, and froze.

"Molly!"

A tall woman in a long dark coat and a pair of those bloody high heels came tripping up to us.

"Molly, you mustn't run on ahead!"

"Sorry," she added, looking up at me. Said it with a little laugh, but she pulled her daughter along quickly enough, and away from me. Couldn't really blame her.

As they went off I heard that bird tell her little girl, "I thought I'd lost you!" And saw her stop for a moment to muck about with the scarf round the kid's shoulders.

"There. Now let's go home." She took hold of her daughter's hand, tightly, and the both of them went down the pavement, with the little girl skipping along and singing.

_"Ding dong, merrily on high,_  
><em>In heav'n the bells are ringing!"<em>

I watched 'em go. Watched till they walked under a street lamp and I couldn't see anything more.

**~.O.~**

Right. Back to Fenchurch East.

Wasn't far, and though I was quick about it it seemed to take longer that night than it had ever done. Perhaps it was the night. Or being on my tod.

_All alone, Gene._

On the way I passed another pub. It was nearer Fenchurch East but everyone in CID had always kept well clear of it, aside from that lot in D&C, who kept turning up like a particularly stubborn case of piles on our collective arses.

As I crossed the street I could hear noise from the punters who'd just been set loose on the city. Usual rubbish, till this one bloke started singing.

_"We'll meet again._  
><em>Don't know where<em>,  
><em>Don't know when..."<em>

Voice reminded me of someone but I didn't turn round to look. Just kept walking. Reckon it must've still been cold out but I couldn't feel it meself. Couldn't feel anything.

**~.O.~**

Station was barely warmer than it was out of doors, but I was well pleased to get inside, even if it meant spending my valuable time in the company of a half dozen of London's finest drunks and deviants.

And Ken Tarbell, our skipper. Quiet bloke. Sometimes I reckoned we ought to check for a pulse.

Just my luck to find out he wasn't always so quiet.

_"To save us all from Satan's power_

_When we were gone astray -"_

He stopped singing soon as he saw me.

"Evening, Guv. Didn't think you'd be here tonight."

"Well, I am."

"Only it's Christmas Eve, see - "

"Yes, thank you, Tarbell, I've read the bloody calendar!"

Went right past him, straight to my office. Had a lot to sort out, and wasn't going be needing any musical accompaniment to do it.

**~.O.~**

Only it wasn't just the work brought me back to my kingdom. Didn't plan to go home, end of. I knew well enough what would happen soon as I tried to get a bit of kip.

Dreams. Same bloody dreams.

Sometimes it was explosions, only it wasn't the IRA; it was someone I'd never even heard of. And it wasn't always our lads dying, either. Still, they were coppers. Brothers.

Other times it was gunfire. Or a knife. Or the end of a rope. Or a rooftop. That one was the worst, I reckoned.

_So that's what you couldn't tell me, Sammy Boy. _

I couldn't save any of them, either. Couldn't stop Chris Skelton going round that corner, or Shazzer trying to nick some toerag, or Ray topping himself, or Sam doing the same.

And Bolly...

Night after night I'd watched that bastard march her off to do God knew what, and Alex crying _and_ talking at the same time - bloody woman could be counted on to do that, couldn't she, but it hadn't saved her.

And neither would I, end of.

**~.O.~**

Poured myself a measure, knocked it back, then had a look at the desk. Covered with files. Covered with _rubbish_.

I picked up Holbrooke's file on the assault, tossed it aside. That newsagent was spending Christmas Eve in hospital, and we'd probably never find the bastards who'd put him there.

Or that bloke who'd killed his stepdaughter. Or the toerags who beat Squires to death.

What was it all for? What was it all _bloody_ for?

Poured meself some more scotch, and the next thing I remembered I was waking up from a kip on the desk. It was the footsteps did it.

Knew that walk right off. And the voice.

"Hello, Guv."

_To be continued..._

**~.O.~**

**Author's Notes: **

**Musical references:  
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First song hated by the guv: "The Fairy Tale of New York" by Kirsty MacColl and the Pogues.

Second song hated by the guv: "Lady in Red" by Chris DeBurgh, which was of course referenced by Alex Drake in episode one of **Ashes to Ashes**.

"Don't Give Up" was recorded by Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush.

Lyrics to "Masters in This Hall" are by William Morris.

Lyrics to "The Parting Glass" are traditional, and I've used a composite of several versions.

Lyrics to "Ding Dong! Merrily on High" are by George Ratcliffe Woodward.

"We'll Meet Again" is by Ross Parker and Hugh Charles.

Tarbell is singing "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" the traditional song that also makes an appearance in **A Christmas Carol**.

**~.O.~**

Chapters 2 and 3 to follow shortly.


	2. She Has My Heart in Thrall

This second of the three chapters turned out to be the one most difficult to bring into final form.

**Recap:** More than four years have gone by since Gene Hunt watched Alex Drake walk inside the Railway Arms. It's Christmas Eve again, but there is neither peace nor good will in the East End as the guv and his team deal with a wave of senseless violence: an attack on an immigrant newsagent; the ransacking of a shop and beating death of one of the staff; and, worst of all, the fatal abuse of a child at the hands of her stepfather. In that last case, Gene and Terry arrive at the crime scene, a flat decorated for the holidays, and find the grieving mother still cradling the little girl in her arms.

So the week draws to a close with the guv collecting yet another set of notes from the medical examiner, but afterwards he heads to his new local for a few desperately needed Christmas Eve pints and listens as his fellow punters sing "The Parting Glass." Then it's back to Fenchurch East, where the new skipper, Ken Tarbell, is at the desk and a surprise visitor turns up in the Manc Lion's office...

**~.O.~**

_If I had money enough to spend_  
><em>And leisure time to sit a while,<em>  
><em>There is a fair maid in this town<em>  
><em>That sorely has my heart beguiled.<em>  
><em>Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,<em>  
><em>I own she has my heart in thrall.<em>  
><em>Then fill to me the parting glass,<em>  
><em>Good night and joy be with you all.<em>

_- "The Parting Glass"_

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><p><em>"Oh, my lady, what shall I do? The evil of this world is too strong for me. I can do so little. It is all in vain." - Mr. Gray, <strong>My Lady Ludlow <strong>by Elizabeth Gaskell**  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Since It Fell unto My Lot<strong>**

Chapter 2:** She Has My Heart in Thrall  
><strong>

All posh red lips and ruddy cheeks, she was, at least the parts of her I could see; the rest was covered up by a long white coat, straight down to her boots.

"Could've put on something skimpier, Bolly. Considering the occasion."

Got a smile out of her with that. Like old times.

"You're thinking of New Year's Eve," said Alex. "Besides, it's cold out. _And_ in here."

Bloody woman was right, of course, though with her standing there, the temperature in the place seemed to have gone up bit.

Brighter in my office too. Mind you, that might've been a trick of the light against that coat. Or maybe the electricity had sorted itself out for once. Any road, I could see Bolls properly as she started across the room - same look, same smile as the first time she came over to my table in that trattoria. Alex Drake seemed a right soft touch then, but I'd learnt she could be a tough old bird.

She walked towards the desk and I knocked a bit of paperwork aside to give her a place to sit. Which she did straightaway - legs up, coat open, so I could see she was in a red jumper that fitted over her D cups and and a pair of black jeans so tight I'd have known if she'd eaten a packet of crisps. Which she hadn't.

"Blimey, Bolls. Thinner than ever. Been looking after yourself?"

"There's no need, really," she said, shaking her head. "We all look after each other."

And they did, I reckoned. It being heaven and all. Ought to have felt jealous, but this was just a DI reporting back to her DCI, end of.

"We're coppers," said Alex, as though she'd read my mind. "It's what we do.

"So...what about you?"

"What d'you mean?"

"How are _you_ keeping?"

They're a funny color, Bolly's eyes. Tended to forget that when she wasn't about. And how she could turn them on a bloke if she wanted something.

"You know me." I picked up the scotch. "Drink?"

"Not tonight, Guv."

"Oh, I forgot. You'll 'ave a bottle of Nelson's best savvy blanc waiting." _  
><em>

"On the contrary, you remember." She gave me another smile, though it looked like she was misting up as well. "But that'll keep. In fact I'm in no hurry to get back."

"Mm. So what can I do you for?"

Saw her blush at that, but it didn't stop her talking.

"Well, firstly, I didn't come here for a drink. I came for you."

_I came for you. _For a moment I thought about chucking it all, leaving Holbrooke and that lot to it, getting a round in at the Railway Arms, and seeing to some unfinished business afterwards. Especially when that unfinished business was right on my desk. Close enough to touch. Still...

"Not leaving yet, Bolly," I said. "Got work to do."

"I know, I know, I know. That's precisely why I'm here."

"Expecting me to muck it up without you keeping a beady eye on things, are you?"

"Of course not, Guv," said Alex. She'd gone the color of her jumper again. "I just thought you might want some backup."

"Got all the backup I need, thank you very much. Not that those tossers in CID aren't bloody useless, nine times out of ten. Mind you, Terry stepped up to the mark the other day. I'll give him that."

"You mean what he did for that poor woman."

Didn't sound like a question, but I had to be sure. "You know what 'appened, then? To 'er daughter?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid I do."

"Wouldn't even let the medical examiner near the kid till Terry 'ad a word."

"He just listened to her, mostly. Dear Terry. The classic good cop."

"Couldn't bring back 'er little girl, though, could 'e?"

"No. No, he couldn't."

"Or nick that toerag she was daft enough to marry."

"Perhaps she thought he'd bring her security. _Them_ security," said Alex. "She wouldn't be the first woman to make that mistake, just as he isn't the first man to run."

"Like a bloody rabbit. Gone to ground and all.

"No leads there - wife's still in shock and and 'is own mum's not giving anything away. Won't 'ear a word against 'er lad, either, for all it wasn't the first time 'e was loose with 'is fists."

"The family are closing ranks, enabling," said Alex. "Typical."

"I tell you, Bolly, blokes like that ought to have 'bastard' tattooed on their foreheads. Might keep the birds away. And save a few kids."

"Yes. Well, 'blokes like that' at times employ crueler weapons than their own fists." Her voice was cold. "'The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.' He got that bit wrong, though, didn't he -"

"What're you on about, Bolls?"

"Nothing. Nothing." She looked down and muttered something - sounded like _Forgive, Alex, and focus - _then turned those eyes of hers back on me. "In any event, my task is to assist a better man. A protector."

"Not your job anymore. In case you've forgotten."

"I've forgotten nothing."

Funny thing, but I was glad to hear her say it.

"And don't worry, Guv." Bolly's voice had got soft again. Dangerously soft. "I'm not here to usurp your authority or micromanage, just see to unfinished - that is, I - "

"Spit it out, woman!"

"All right, then." She put both hands down on the desk and leaned towards me. "When I was a negotiator, I used to say it was my job to help people.

"Well, so is yours - it's your destiny, in fact, connecting your fate with that of so many others - but you can't do it on your own."

"Already 'ad this conversation once, Drakey. And might I remind you that while you're off wiggling your arse at every desk sergeant in the Railway Arms, I'm out on the streets making a difference."

Saw the look on her face and felt like a right bastard, especially since she hadn't exactly wanted to leave, and I'd seen to it she had. But before I could sort things out with Bolly she started in again like the determined pair of stockings she is.

"But that's just it. You're working yourself to exhaustion, right into -"

"What? An early grave? Bit late to worry about that." I opened the whisky and was about to pour meself a measure when I heard her whisper:

"Not too late for all things. Not too late for this."

"'This.' Going to have to be more specific." I stood up, took the bottle with me, and made for the filing cabinet.

"Being Gene Hunt. Being the guv." I heard those high heels hit the floor of my office. "Making your team feel -"

"Oh, give it a rest, Bolly." Knew bloody well how that sentence was meant to end, even if it'd been years since she had given me some rubbish about making 'em all feel safe.

"Guv." I didn't look, but I could tell Bolls was standing right behind me. Close enough for me to smell her perfume. "I know you think you've been left on your own, that the team are letting you down. But they aren't. They _won't_.

"The truth is, you've got everyone you need already in place - Terry, DI Holbrooke, WPC Ferguson -"

I turned round. "Red? Oh, you are joking me."

"I'm not. She's conscientious. I mean she cares about getting it right -"

"I know what 'conscientious' means, Drake."

"- like Shaz Granger before her, or Annie Cartwright. And she trusts you, Kirsty does."

"Hm. Must be losing me touch."

"On the contrary, Guv, you've still got it." Alex gave me another smile. "Underneath all the swagger, you're a good man. A kind man. Kirsty can see that, even if she wouldn't dare bring it up."

"Bollocks. I keep Ferguson in line along with the rest of 'em. Caught her blubbing over some poor bastard left in a freezing alleyway with 'is head bashed in. Whatever 'appened to all the tough birds?"

"You're referring to the Squires case, I take it." Bolls looked down at the heap of files on my desk, picked out the folder. "May I?

"Suit yourself."

I watched while she opened the file, read for a bit. Saw her face change soon as she got to the photographs.

"Yeah, that was a bad one. I reckon the blaggers surprised 'em right as they were closing the shop. No sign of a break-in. No mercy for Squires."

"He didn't deserve that." Barely heard her.

"What, to be left with 'alf a face? No, 'e did not."

"Dear God." Alex went quiet for a moment, then was at the file again. Like she'd never left Fenchurch East at all.

"Guv, the man in hospital - have you been back to see him since the initial statement?"

"Too busy with his mate. Him being on a slab and all. At least the other bastard's still alive."

"Yes, but just look at the photos." Bolly crossed the floor, planted herself next to me, held the file right under my nose. "Odd, isn't it, that his injuries are rather superficial when the attack on the other assistant was so brutal. Yet _both_ men would have been witnesses."

Funny thing. I'd known that, only I'd put it in the back of my mind, then forgotten after the trip to the coroner's office.

"That's significant," Bolls was saying. "In fact everything here is significant."

"Right. Spent Christmas Eve down the morgue. Might as well go to 'ospital tomorrow." I leaned meself against the filing cabinet, folded my arms. "I reckon you'll 'ave my Boxing Day plans sorted in a jiffy."

Alex closed the Squires file and laid it back on my desk. "Well, talking of hospitals, about the newsagent who was attacked on Monday, Mr. Kazmi -"

"Blimey, you really 'ave been keeping a beady eye on things. Any road, we're miles ahead of you there - visits made, statements taken, where we could find anyone who'd talk. Been in more corner shops the last two days than the Daily Mail, Holbrooke and I. 'ad more doors slammed in our faces too, outside of anyone standing for election.

"Mind you, none of that put Holbrooke off at first. Thought they'd come to _us_ if 'e could 'ave a quick word with the im- - with the bloke down at the mosque."

"The imam, yes."

"Holbrooke reckoned we'd fill the community center, get the lot of 'em talking -"

"Building relationships, and trust," said Alex. "That's _exactly_ the sort of groundwork you need here. Well done, Holbrooke."

"Wasn't enough for 'im, though, Bolly. Oh, no, 'e started going on about community reassurance plans, additional patrols, keeping one step ahead of the press and all. Seconding Ferguson as a liaison officer to talk with the birds. Even reckoned the Met ought to try recruiting a few of the lads."

"Guv, it's well past time you had a bit more diversity on the force -"

"Oh, give over, woman. I've already got extra plods on every street corner.

"Can't afford to 'ave someone turn up dead next time, Bolly. Not on my patch. Come the new year, we need to put the fear of God in the skinheads, not run about the East End playing bloody Lawrence of Arabia. Holbrooke 'asn't learnt the difference yet."

"Yes. Well, I can't believe I'm about to say this," said Alex, "but you're _both_ right."

"Care to repeat that?"

"I said you're both right. Wherever the Kazmis started out, this is their home now. They're going to need you, and so will their neighbors, even if they don't realize it yet.

"But it's Holbrooke who knows their culture, who sees what lies before them. Guv, this is about respect. It's about trust. About faith. Holbrooke understands that. Let him take the lead this time. He has training enough, and the right experience -"

"And a gob that never shuts, apparently. Bad as Tyler, sometimes. Or you."

"I mean it, Guv. Give Holbrooke a chance. He's another arrow in your quiver."

"Pain in the arse, more like."

"_Your_ pain in the arse, at least for the time being. And your ally, as long as you can get him to believe in you. However many politically incorrect comments you make or cigarettes you smoke, you need to let him know you're completely kosher."

"'course I am, Bolls, though mind you, Sergeant Rock -"

"That you're on the level, then! Let's keep this Gary Cooper wholesome, shall we, at least for my own sanity's sake."

"Sanity never was your strong suit, Bolly. Not that Holbrooke's much better in that department."

Alex sighed. "Please tell me you're not still writing people off as liars and weirdos because their life experience is just the slightest bit different from your own."

"Can't use the word 'slight' in 'is case."

"And of course some would define insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result," said Bolls. "But that's a luxury you can't afford. Guv, time is running out."

"Wouldn't be 'ere on Christmas Eve 'olding down the fort if it wasn't."

"Yes, but _by yourself_ - well, except for Ken Tarbell. You're a pair, the two of you."

"What?"

"He's withdrawing as well, isolating himself. It's the worst possible thing he could do right now, and the Gene Hunt I know wouldn't just leave him to it."

_The Gene Hunt I know_.

"Nobody knows anyone, Bolly. Thought you'd learnt that by now."

"Guv, you can strut and roar all you like, but it's no use." Alex stepped towards me. "Because I know that rough Manc Lion exterior conceals a generous, forgiving heart." She slipped a hand inside my jacket and onto my chest. "Jimmy Stewart warmth alongside the John Wayne machismo."

I shrugged her off. "Not playing tonight, Alex."

"It's not a game, it's deadly serious. Guv, you can't afford a rift with your DI or your desk sergeant, not now, not when -"

"Oh, spare me the peace on earth and good will bollocks. Blimey, just look at you - all high and mighty, tart playing vicar, nattering on about forgiveness_._" Saw Bolly flinch, knew I'd hurt her, but I was angry enough to finish the job. "I did not ask you to come in 'ere and give me chapter and verse about what I'm getting wrong!"

"Don't worry," said Alex, pulling that white coat tight round herself. "I'm not staying. In fact I'll be gone before you know it. But I am not going to stand by and watch as your kingdom is dismantled around you."

"Those bastards in D&C lay so much as a finger on a single brick, they'll 'ave nothing left to to type with but their spotty little noses."

"Guv, there _is_ no Fenchurch East without you -"

"Precisely my point."

"No, I mean without all of you." Then she added softly, "They send you the good coppers, Gene."

"What, the ones who topped themselves? Got blown to pieces by a bomb? Don't need reminding of that, Alex."

"No, but it means they come to you with a lot of issues to resolve. For God's sake, you don't always have to play bad cop. Try getting inside people's minds for a change, instead of kicking in their doors. I mean -"

"In case you 'aven't been paying attention, Drake, I've got two people in 'ospital, two more in the morgue, six kinds of scum still on the streets, ten useless twats in CID and a partridge in a bloody pear tree! No time for chat!"

"Guv!" she said. "Guv, you need to _listen_."

There it was. Same as Viv had said to me that day outside HMP Fenchurch.

"You fight dirty, Inspector."

She looked down at the floor, smiled. "Well, I had the best teachers."

"Got a lot of practice in on me and all."

"Yes, and it was exhausting. _Is_ exhausting." Alex leaned back against my desk. "I think I will have that drink after all, Guv. If you're still offering."

"You only had to ask, Bolls."

**~.O.~**

She was quiet while I filled her glass and then poured meself a measure. Which I was just about to knock back when I remembered. Bolly didn't say a word, just gave me a smile as I tapped my glass against hers, but I reckoned I knew well enough what she was thinking.

Afterwards she didn't drink her scotch in one go, just took a sip, then sat there with the tumbler in her hands and the cogs in her brain turning.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I haven't come to add to your burdens, truly. But since I_ am_ here, I'm ready to listen."

"Don't see the point. Seems you know it all already."

"Then I gave the wrong impression. Please, Guv. Talk to me."

The look on her face said she might've wanted a bit more from me than just talk, but I pushed that thought from my mind.

"All right, Bolls, we'll play this your way.

"Reckon I lied to you just now about making a difference, when all I do is file one bloody useless report after another, and try and keep CID out of the gutter and standing upright - well, except during beer o'clock.

"All the while D&C are breathing down our necks, and the streets are as awash with filth as they've ever been. Can't stop the rot, Bolly. Don't know why I'm doing any of this."

"Because you're a copper," said Alex. "Because you're here to protect, rather than destroy. It's what we do."

"'No 'we,' about it, end of. Not since you 'ung up your spurs."

"You and the team, then."

"Oh, pull the other one, Drakey. 'alf that lot in CID couldn't find their own arses without Sherlock Holmes and the entire NHS for backup."

"And the other half you need to ensure that Fenchurch East lives to fight another day."

"See, you know what your problem is, Bolly?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Thing is, you always – _what_?"

"I said I do know what my problem is," said Alex. "Or was, at least."

"All right then, Drake, surprise me. What?"

"Pride. It was pride." She looked away. "Trying to do everything myself. Believing I was that one indispensable person. And I paid for that. I paid for it dearly."

_And all the harm that e'er I've done,  
>Alas, it was to none but<em> _me._

"But you're not alone, Guv. In fact you're absolutely surrounded by armed bastards." Alex was looking at me again, and smiling. "After all, what's a sheriff without his finest deputies?"

Like I said, Bolly always did fight dirty.

"You need them, Guv - WPC Ferguson, DI Holbrooke, Sergeant Tarbell - but they need you more. And you _can_ save them, you know," she added.

"You know bloody well I can't, Bolly."

"Not from the past. From the hell they brought with them.

"You could make a start with Holbrooke, Guv," she said softly. "Let him take charge of the Kazmi investigation."

"All right, Bolly, you win. Reckon I won't get any peace otherwise."

"And about Ken Tarbell -"

"What about 'im?"

"Talk to him. Talk to him tonight."

"Dunno, Bolly. Sounds right poofy."

"_Promise me._"

"All right, if it means that much to you."

"It does - or rather it does to you. But then that's the same thing, really." She drank the last of her scotch, then put the glass down on my desk. "Well, I'd best leave you to it."

_...since it fell unto my lot_  
><em>That I should rise and you should not...<em>

Wasn't much time, but I had to tell her before she went.

"Alex. You didn't deserve that. What that scum did to you."

"No." Saddest smile I'd ever seen, and I've seen hundreds of 'em. "But it was my destiny."

_Since it fell unto my lot..._

"And I've made peace with it."

I snorted. "Didn't 'ave any choice."

"Not about that, no. But I did about facing it. I _could_ do it. You taught me that too."

"Come again?"

"'Yes, you can.' That's what you told me."

Hadn't been what I meant, not at all.

"Well, I really do have to go now," said Alex. "But I'll see you soon. I promise."

"Can't get enough, can you?"

She smiled. "Well, I _was_ going to ask what you were doing New Year's Eve."

"Thought I'd catch up on me reading."

"Really?"

"Nah. Reckon I'll just get pissed. Same as everyone else in this bloody city."

"Oh. It's just that I thought we might share a bottle of Bollinger - a peace offering, perhaps. And I _was_ going to wear this frock. It's a little...revealing."

"Bring it round for inspection then, Drakey. Long as it's something skimpy."

"The barest minimum of fabric, I promise. You'll hardly know it's there."

"Mm. Might just make it worth me while, then. Late Christmas present."

"If you like." I saw her try to smile, then look away, blink. _Shit._ First the mum of that little girl, then WPC Ferguson, now Bolls. Hat trick.

"No tears, Bolly. That's an order."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No tears. It's just that I can't think of Christmas presents without remembering Molly. Without remembering my daughter.

"Another Christmas and I'm not there with her_,_ Gene. She's growing up without me. She'll be fine, of course, as you said. It's just that I didn't think you could miss someone in heaven."

Alex looked straight at me. "How is that possible, do you think? How is it even possible - "

"Come 'ere, Bolls."

All at once it didn't matter anymore that she'd been to Oxbridge and Langley and places I'd never even dreamt of going, and learnt things I never would. There were still one or two problems only the Gene Genie could sort for her.

Bolly in red, me with a comforting arm about her.

Stood there a long time, the both of us, Alex resting her head against my shoulder. Seemed right after a bit to lean forward, press my mouth to her forehead, same way I'd done when I'd believed she was going to stay, that it'd be the two of us together, standing tall against the rot.

Always.

**~.O.~**

But I knew she was leaving, that Nelson had a bottle of wine at the ready for when she walked in the Railway Arms - mustn't keep _that_ waiting - and all the blokes in the place would turn round and watch when she did. Lucky bastards, seeing Bolly each night, and not only in their dreams.

But then Alex surprised me, like she always had. Didn't say a word, just took my hand and put against her heart so I could feel it going a mile a minute - steady, strong.

Unbreakable.

"I meant what I told you at the last," Bolls was saying. "I'd have stayed if I could, though you _didn't_ need me, you don't need me now.

"But my heart is with you altogether. Remember that." Then she put her other hand up to my face - not to punch me, either - and leaned forward the way she'd done before, just the once.

All over in a jiffy, but it'd have to do me for another week.

"Bye, Bollykecks," I said when the both of us came up for air.

"See you soon, Guv. And remember."

_Remember_.

As if I could bloody forget.

_To be continued..._

**AN:**

Cyber brownie points to whoever spots the reference to "A Couple of Desperate Cases," another of my A2A stories.

I've borrowed a bit as well from a key exchange between Richard Sharpe and Patrick Harper in the TV adaptation of **Sharpe's Rifles**, just because I love it so much.

Alex makes reference to the videotaped speech her father makes in the final episode of series one, though I just found out the quotation, usually attributed to Thoreau, is a composite of his work and that of Oliver Wendell Holmes. The things I learn while writing fanfic!


End file.
